The Sweetest Thing (5 page)

“Heya,” she cooed adorably, taking a sip from the martini glass she held, less surprisingly, in the other hand. “How was your day at school?”

“All … right …” I said slowly, trying to figure out exactly what was going on. Feb might ask me questions like, “I know you weren't there, but have you heard what happened after I passed out?” or, “Where the hell did you put those aspirin?” but never questions about school. Certain kinds of sisterly chitchats just weren't her cup of … tea.

“Come on into the kitchen.” She beckoned with the wooden spoon. “I've been baking cookies!”

I cautiously followed her to the kitchen, where I was astonished to find our usually barren stainless-steel counters littered with evidence that someone had, in fact, been cooking. Every surface was covered with crumpled tinfoil and scattered flour, chocolate chips and open tin cans, measuring spoons and cups
I didn't even know we owned, and an overturned blender that looked like it had been dragged behind a truck. And there, surrounded by sheets of newly baked chocolate chip cookies, was my brother, Patch.

Patch is probably the most popular and best-looking guy in his group of friends, and he's always disappearing for days at a time and coming back after a bunch of crazy adventures. It's not like he seeks it out—he's just such a cool, easygoing guy that people are always inviting him along to the Hamptons or to parties out in Brooklyn that last entire weekends, and sometimes he just forgets to tell us he's not coming back. So I wasn't exactly sure why he was hanging out in the kitchen scratching out answers to the
New York Times
crossword puzzle. My orange Pomeranian, Noodles, was curled up at his feet, fast asleep.

When Patch noticed me standing in the doorway, no doubt looking completely shell-shocked, he lifted his glass of milk in salute, like some TV sitcom dad, and gave me a cheery grin.

“You guys,” I whispered in disbelief, picking a burned cookie off the nearest tray. “What's going on? Did we start getting a subscription to
Good Housekeeping
or something? Or wait, did Mom and Dad do something I'm absolutely going to hate?”

Patch and Feb exchanged significant looks.

“I think we should tell her,” said Patch.

Feb pulled a chair out from the table and motioned for me to sit down on it. She sat next to me and took my hands in hers. I felt the grit of baking powder on her palms. “I've got to tell you something, Flanny, but you're not going to like it.”

“If it's that you and Patch have been replaced by robots, I'm right there with you,” I said with a smirk.

Feb squeezed my hand. “Mom and Dad left this morning for Beijing. They're going to Cambodia and then to Thailand from there, and I'm not sure when they'll be back.”

I felt my face crumple. “They said they were going to stick around here for a while. I can't believe they did this again—without even telling me!”

Ever since I was little, my parents have traveled a lot. For a few years before I was in school, we even lived on a sailboat, floating around from port to port, although all I really remember about the experience is the way the tossing of the ocean made me spill my juice. Point is, I'm used to them being gone a lot, and Patch and Feb have sort of half-raised me from the time they were old enough to stay home by themselves. But right after I started high school, Mom and Dad came back from our summerhouse in Connecticut and announced that they were going to keep an eye on me
for once. And, even though I know most kids in the world would eat ten boxes of bugs to be in my situation, I was glad to hear they'd be sticking around for a while.

Now it was all starting to make sense: the family dinners we'd eaten at different restaurants around the city the last few nights—the haircut certificate Mom had given me “just for being such a great kid!” They'd been feeling guilty. And now they were gone.

I leaned over and scooped Noodles into my arms. He woke up and started licking my face with his little pink tongue. “But they just got back. Why would they take off again so soon?”

“There's a human rights conference in Beijing with Bon Jovi and Bono and some congressmen, and it was all very last-minute and impromptu, and when the pedal hit the metal they just couldn't say no. Mom told me herself that she wouldn't leave you for the world—except she had to make an exception because right now, the world needs her!”

“Wait, Mom talked to you about this?” Getting information from Feb is like playing telephone with a bunch of fourth-graders after they've eaten peanut butter sandwiches: not very reliable.

“Well, they only found out they were going a couple days ago. And you know how they hate long good-byes.”

I shook my head. “I really wanted them to be here for my freshman year.”

She and Patch smiled at each other, like they'd been waiting for this.

“That's where we come in,” said Patch. “We knew you'd be upset about Mom and Dad being out of town. So we figured we'd give you the next best thing.”

“Grandma and Granddad?” I asked, perking up a little.

“No, silly!” Feb swatted at me with her martini glass and spilled gin onto my jeans. “Us!”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“Feb and I thought we could be like Mom and Dad,” Patch explained. “Or actually, more like somebody else's mom and dad. A mom and dad who're around all the time. Feb's learning to cook and she's going to start walking Noodles, and I'm going to get some tools tomorrow to fix the leaky faucet in the bathtub. We're really going to keep an eye out for you this time, Flan. We're taking it seriously.”

Even though I was sad my parents had taken off again, I was used to it by now, and I couldn't help but grin at the earnest, worried expressions on my siblings' faces. I saw where this was going, and it was already hilarious. It would be like the year when Patch resolved to stop letting girls fall in love with him—my
brother and sister would keep up this
Leave It to Beaver
act for two days, at most, and then forget about it entirely. But for the time being I decided to humor them.

“Okay.” Noodles wriggled happily on my lap while I scratched the soft, floofy fur behind his ears. “So what's on the menu tonight? I'm starving.”

“Meatloaf!” Feb triumphantly rose out of her chair and walked to the oven. But when she opened the oven door, a tornado of black soot poured out, and for the second time that day I was completely engulfed by acrid-smelling smoke.

About two hours later, after one emergency trip to the grocery store and a second emergency trip to the pharmacy for burn balm and Band-Aids, Feb's meatloaf was finished, and it actually looked pretty amazing. Patch set the table, and I helped carry side dishes over while Feb cut thick slices of the meatloaf. We all sat down and unfolded napkins on our laps. It was just like being in a restaurant or something, except with Noodles prancing around underfoot, waving his paws and begging for table scraps. Sometimes I think he's not a dog at all, just some kind of ultra-cute anime version of a baby fox.

“So, Flan, you never told me how your day went,” Feb said, spooning mashed potatoes onto her plate.

“There's not much to tell. Nothing too exciting happened. Just classes. I think I bombed a quiz in English.” I took a bite of asparagus. It was really pretty tasty, even if it was kind of limp. I swallowed. “What about you two?”

Patch tilted his head to the side, thinking. “Well, Mickey was going to get his bike fixed. But now he's thinking about getting an ATV.”

“Wait a second,” Feb cut in, staring daggers at me from across the table. “You bombed a quiz?”

I almost choked on my roll. Feb was really getting into this concerned-mom role. “It's really okay. I've been doing fine in that class. I just had to spend some extra time on my bio homework last night, so I didn't really get a chance to study. God, Feb, don't look so worried.”

Although I got a little worried myself at that moment. Mentioning biology reminded me of Adam, Meredith, and Judith. Luckily, I had SBB's No Adam Rule in case things got out of control and my friends started obsessing over Adam's every move, like they had done with Tony. Adam definitely wasn't worth the trouble, although it had been nice how he noticed my haircut—Bennett still hadn't figured out what was different about me. … I forced myself to push those thoughts away and focus on what Feb was saying.

“Well,” said February, “I've been working my butt off with this internship.”

“You have an internship?” I tried to picture Feb making copies, typing, even operating a stapler, but somehow the image didn't gel. Then again, if she was going to the grocery store and making meatloaf, anything was possible. “Where is it? When did it start?”

“About four days ago.” Feb dabbed at her lips with a napkin, then picked up her martini glass again. “A friend of mine was working at this law firm, but she was moonlighting as a flair bartender and she got hit on the head with a schnapps bottle. So I'm covering for her till she gets back.”

“Wow. What law firm is it?”

“Jenkins and Lowe. They mostly do contracts, royalties, stuff like that. Hey, I think they represent Sara-Beth Benny.”

“Oh.” I made a mental note not to mention that to SBB. She hates her lawyer almost as much as she hates her agent.

We finished eating about twenty minutes later. It had been a really nice dinner—amazingly, nothing was burned, mushy, or raw. Even Noodles seemed to like the scraps I sneaked him under the table. We were enjoying one another's company so much that Patch turned on the stereo and we all listened to this new
indie band he'd found and even washed the dishes together instead of just leaving them piled in the sink like usual. Then we started a game of Monopoly, which I hadn't played since I was about eight years old, drank fresh cappuccinos from our espresso maker, and munched on cookies for dessert. My brother and sister can be pretty cool to hang out with, and it was all so pleasant I started to hope I was wrong and that this caring-parents routine might go on for a while. I had just polished off my third cookie and was starting to feel my stomach expand in a way that I couldn't call comfortable when the doorbell rang.

“I'll get it,” I volunteered, scooping Noodles up in my arms.

“Be careful,” Feb called. “Keep the chain on. It might be a psycho.”

I rolled my eyes. But when I opened the door, I dropped Noodles and shrieked.

Standing there on our front step, holding a bunch of yellow lilies, was Bennett.

“That's so romantic!” I gave him a big hug. “Lilies are my favorite. What're you doing here?”

Bennett handed me the bouquet, then bent down to pet Noodles, who was jumping up on his legs. “I was just at a record store on Bleecker, and I thought I'd come by to see if you felt like getting some ice cream.”

“Come on in—you can finally meet Feb! We were all just playing Monopoly.” I held the door open for him.

“Monopoly?” Bennett echoed, following me inside. He glanced around and seemed about as surprised as I'd been by how clean it was. The last few times he'd been over, the living room had been covered with pizza boxes and empty cans my brother's friends had
abandoned. I led him into the living room and introduced to him Feb.

When Bennett offered his hand for my sister to shake, she took it cordially, and—if I read her right—a bit suspiciously.

“Isn't it a little late to just be ‘dropping by'?” she asked with an arched eyebrow. I elbowed her in the side.

Bennett shifted his feet and smiled nervously. “I promise to have her back soon. Can we bring you guys any ice cream?”

“No, we just had cookies.” Feb crossed her arms and gave me a sharp look. “Just don't stay out too late. It's a school night.”

“All right …
Mom
.” I grabbed Bennett's hand and pulled him out the door, wondering if I'd spoken too soon about liking this superparents routine. Outside, we kept holding hands as we walked along the sidewalk.

“That was weird,” he said. “Your sister seemed so … Well, from what you said, I had pictured her as some sort of party goddess, but she was kind of acting like Barbara Bush. Only meaner.”

“Oh, Feb's nuts and totally unpredictable. She'll drop the Stepford act when she gets bored of it—which I'm guessing will be in about two days.” I laughed.
“Minus the third degree back there, it's actually kind of cute. She even baked cookies.”

Bennett looked at me almost shyly out of the corner of his eye, “I hope you saved room for ice cream.”

“I always do.” I smiled. Like Judith and Meredith, he'd been a little intimidated by my crazy family and famous friends at first, but now that he was getting to know everybody, it seemed like he was fitting in just fine. And I knew that once Feb was back to normal she'd like him a lot, too.

We walked down my block, stopping for a minute at the art gallery on my street, which had a bunch of cool brass sculptures in the window. Some of them had moving parts—like big sideways propellers—and Bennett said they reminded him of the Alexander Calder mobiles he'd seen on an art field trip to the Whitney Museum, which made me squeeze his hand even tighter. He's such a smart guy.

“I really like this neighborhood,” he said as we turned onto West Fourth Street. A bunch of New York University students were hanging out and drinking coffee at the Bean Garden and at the Starbucks across the street. “There's always so much going on. Up on the West Side, I feel like there's nothing but Citibanks and grocery stores and people my parents' age—the whole place closes down at eight P.M.”

“But I like your neighborhood too.” Bennett lives up near Riverside Park, and when he had a party there earlier in the semester, I thought his building was beautiful. It looked like a big white cake. All the buildings in my neighborhood are small and kind of old. When I was a kid, Greenwich Village used to remind me of the town in Pinocchio: all the streets are crooked and narrow.